


What Stands between You and Me

by yujacheong



Category: Knightfall (TV 2017)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Bathing/Washing, Episode: s02e07 Death Awaits, Intimacy - Bathed By Rapist, Intimacy - Rapist Tends Wounds They Caused, Jealousy, M/M, Missing Scene, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Non-Consensual Kissing, Obsession - Rapist In Love With Victim, Obsessive Behavior, Oral - Performed on Victim, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:00:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24895060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yujacheong/pseuds/yujacheong
Summary: Philip has his revenge. But still, he finds himself wantingmore…“We could have had a good life together, you and me. Good food and drink. Song and dance. The pleasure of one another’s company. But instead… Instead, you chose to betray me.”“You’re a monster.”“No, I’m a king,” corrects Philip. “A king who does not tolerate the betrayal of those whom he loves.”
Relationships: Landry du Lauzon/Philip of France
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14
Collections: Nonconathon 2020





	What Stands between You and Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thedevilchicken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/gifts).



The embrace of the Iron Maiden is cruel, and Landry is barely conscious when at last Philip sees fit to open the sarcophagus and release him from her impalements. Thus disgorged, the once proud Templar Knight slumps to the ground, his breathing labored, his wounds bleeding shallowly. He is still alive and conscious – but barely.

The abject sight pleases Philip immensely. “How the mighty are made low!” he crows. “Where is your honor, Landry? Where is your God to show you mercy? If you call out to Him, you call out in vain! There is only me to plead with now, Landry, _me_!”

Landry moans in response. It’s not clear how much he understands of what Philip is saying, but Philip doesn’t particularly care. Ah yes, truly he makes for a pitiable sight. He’s helpless and weak as a babe. How different from the days of their youth, before everything that came between them. As a matter of fact, it almost…it almost makes Philip feel…

“Leave us,” says Philip abruptly to his guards. The words are curt, and they obey without question. They will allow no one else to enter the chamber until Philip says so. They of all men know that it is not their place to question the King of France.

There is a basin and fresh rags near to hand. Philip kneels down beside where Landry lies, eases him out of his soiled clothing, and begins to cleanse the wounds inflicted by the Iron Maiden. He wipes gently at those wounds, murmuring soothing nothings whenever Landry hisses in pain. He cleans the older wounds too, the ones inflicted by the recent battle at Chartres, and he clucks at Landry’s many scars.

After he finishes cleansing and dressing the worst of the wounds, he begins to wash Landry himself, removing the layers of seat, soil, dried blood, and grime from his skin and hair. He neglects nothing, not his back or his buttocks, not under his arms or behind his knees, not between his fingers or his toes. Landry has not bathed in a long time, this much is evident, and the water in the basin is practically black by the time Philip has finished.

“It didn’t have to be like this, you know,” says Philip, his gaze holding Landry’s. He sets the basin and the rags aside and reaching out to stroke along Landry’s chest with the palm of his hand. His thumb catches on one nipple. Landry flinches, but Philip pretends not to notice. He circles the other nipple with his thumb until it is pebbled and peaked. “We could have had a good life together, you and me. Good food and drink. Song and dance. The pleasure of one another’s company. But instead… Instead, you chose to betray me.”

“You’re a monster.”

“No, I’m a king,” corrects Philip. “A king who does not tolerate the betrayal of those whom he loves.”

Landry’s upper lip curls with contempt. The effect is rather mitigated, however, by the way he is naked and prostrate on the floor. “You didn’t love her. You didn’t deserve to – ”

Philip silences him with a kiss.

He struggles, of course, his mouth a tight, angry line. He will not reciprocate the kiss, not on pain of death. But he is weak from the Iron Maiden’s embrace and can hardly move, never mind stand or fight, and Philip has the advantage. He kisses Landry harder and pinches his nose shut. He bites at those luscious lips until they are hot and purple, licking at them until Landry can hold his breath no longer and, gasping, opens for Philip. And Philip is ready to seize the opportunity, his tongue sliding inside so that he can taste sour flavor of Landry’s mouth, smell the staleness of his breath. But it does not matter that he does not smell of roses or taste of honey; this is _Landry_ , and it is Landry – only Landry – whom Philip wants.

“It’s not too late,” he says. His free hand drifts down between Landry’s legs, and he wraps his fingers around the soft flesh of his cock. Landry cannot mistake Philip’s meaning. “Renounce your vows. Denounce the Templars. Swear your fealty to me. The Order need not stand between us. The past need not stand between us. God need not stand between us. You have only to say the word.”

Philip does not wait for Landry’s reply. He lowers his head towards Landry’s cock and takes it into his mouth. He laves the organ with his tongue, encouraging it to fill, which it does only with the greatest of reluctance. Yet fill it does, and it is so long and thick it will not fit fully into Philip’s mouth. The purple head, when exposed, is thickest of all. Yes, that head would have held her nice and open at the entrance to her womb whilst he seeded her, Philip thinks, no wonder she’d –

No. _No_. The past is the past, and the present is the present. The future is as yet undetermined. Philip sucks harder on the head of Landry’s cock, like he would draw the seed up from his balls as if it were water through a hollow bit of straw, and he pumps the remainder of the shaft with his fist. Landry does not smell of roses or taste of honey here, either, but neither does he smell or taste unpleasant. Philip likes the salt, the savory musk, the trace of bitterness, and he likes Landry’s helpless, broken protests.

Landry might not want this, but Philip does, and it’s what Philip wants that matters in the end.

When Landry comes, tense and twisting, resisting that which he was not made to resist, Philip makes certain to drink every drop. He aches too now, and he is as stiff and strong in his trousers as one of the Iron Maiden’s iron spikes. He would impale Landry upon it in a heartbeat, if only…if only Landry would…

“I’ll have your answer. Will you renounce your vows and denounce the Templars? Will you be mine?” asks Philip. He can taste the remnants of Landry’s seed on his tongue when he speaks.

“I will _never_ be yours.”

“Very well.” Philip’s heart has become harder than his cock. He rises to his feet, calls his guards back into the chamber, and orders them to have Landry dragged back down to the dungeon. The Templar Order is doomed, and Landry will share his brothers’ fate.


End file.
